


Love Like a Sin

by fluorineandsilver (myfavoritedemons)



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-11 03:05:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18421527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myfavoritedemons/pseuds/fluorineandsilver
Summary: It had taken John Bridgens a full three days to free himself, and afterwards he’d left a bloody trail of bodies in his wake, searching desperately for a sire he’d never find.





	Love Like a Sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [syntheticcathedral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticcathedral/gifts).



It’s early evening when John wakes. He can feel the last rays of the sun in the back of his mind, disappearing over the horizon outside. Henry is curled up in his arms, arms around his waist, mouth pressed against his neck as if in a chaste kiss. The coffin isn’t really big enough for both of them, but he hasn’t had a chance yet to procure a second. John moves a hand from Henry’s back to run it through his hair. He presses a kiss to his new progeny’s forehead. Henry sighs sleepily, worms his way even closer.

“John?” Henry asks. His eyelashes brush against John’s cheek.

“Mm?” John hums.

“‘m hungry.”

John’s not surprised. He remembers the gnawing pit that was his stomach on his first night after waking, remembers the way he’d chewed his own wrists in desperation, finding himself too weak to dig his way out of his grave. It had taken John Bridgens a full three days to free himself, and afterwards he’d left a bloody trail of bodies in his wake, searching desperately for a sire he’d never find. Henry will never have to suffer that way, never feel the horror and anger and abandonment that were part of John’s rising. John will be a better sire than that. The hunger, though, he cannot help.

“Of course you are,” he says. “Let’s get you some breakfast.”

* * *

 

The floor of the room is slick with blood. It pools under the bed and runs in rivulets towards the door, which John leans against to keep an ear out, even though it’s locked. The couple on the bed, tangled in their bedsheets, are soaked in it. Henry had gasped in surprise when it began to spurt out of the woman’s neck, but she’d quickly fallen limp back against the mattress.

“Quickly now,” John had urged. He’d been stroking the man to keep him calm and enthralled. “You’ve pierced an artery, Henry. Try not to waste it.” Henry’s eyes had gone black as he fed from her throat, clutching her desperately, gulping the hot blood down as quickly as he could. He was such a lovely little thing. When he’d first approached John in the pub, he’d been shy and flushed red, and John though had craved him instantly, he’d made himself wait a week before deciding to turn him. In the end, the decision had been an easy one. Kissing Henry for the first time, he’d tasted blood in his mouth.

“It’s my lungs,” Henry had said, shrugging. “All of us at the mill are coughing, but they tell us not to worry. It’s not so bad, most of the time.”

Now the room is quiet, the woman’s body is rapidly cooling, and John can hear that all is going on as normal in the rest of the inn. Henry is hunched over the man, feeding messily. John had worried, before, about turning Henry. He’s heard of risings gone wrong, of people brought back who bring nothing of who they were before their deaths, and he hadn’t wanted that for Henry. Watching now, he’s so proud. Despite his hunger, Henry had mastered himself long enough to enthrall the couple, making their deaths soft and pleasurable. He’d held back until they were weak from the blood loss before biting down hard, ripping into soft tissue in order to drain them thoroughly.

“John,” Henry asks, pulling him back from his thoughts. “Aren’t you hungry?” He wipes a hand over his mouth, unaware that he’s merely smeared a red streak further across it. John shakes his head. Henry stands, comes over to look up at him through blood-spattered eyelashes. His eyes, still fully black from feeding, are twin pools that John yearns to dive into. He’s young. He’ll learn to make a neater meal in time. 

“I thought we’d share them,” Henry says. “I wanted-”

“Hush,” John says, cupping Henry’s chin. “I’m still warm with your blood inside me, love. I won’t need to feed for days. Still…” He bends his head to kiss Henry, licking the blood from his lips, from this inside of his mouth. Freshly fed, Henry’s tongue is hot slipping into his own cooler mouth. John can taste the couple’s blood intermingling in Henry’s mouth, their fear, their resignation, their arousal. He walks Henry back to the bed, licking at a streak of blood down his cheek. It takes an agonizing four seconds of not kissing Henry to drag the bodies off the bed and onto the floor, and then he’s pushing his progeny to lay down on the bloodied sheets.

“Wait,” Henry gasps. “We ought to- will we bury them?” 

“Oh, my boy,” John says. “My sweet boy. We can, if that’s what you want.” Henry nods. It’ll be impractical, but John feels like indulging Henry in any act of kindness he desires. John has all the time in the world to teach Henry about the new life he’s been born to. Their first night together as equals feels like a holy thing. “Now, lay back, and let me show you what your new body can do.”


End file.
